My Life as a Dog – so far

MY LIFE AS A DOG – SO FAR

Hi, my name is Jules and I’m a Morkie. I guess that is because my daddy was a Maltese Terrier and my mother was a Yorkie. Or maybe it was the other way around. I don’t remember. I was too young when I lost them. Oh, they also call me a tea-cup. Not sure why. Something about my size.  My friends in the park call me shortie, but that doesn’t bother me. It’s good being small. I’m not a threat to any other dog, so I can pretty much do what I want.

About the only thing I remember from my childhood is that if you act friendly you get more treats. So I do that really well.

My adopted parents are pretty nice. They squeeze the heck out of me. I think they think I like that, so I don’t complain. My dad is really big, so I have to jump up on the  couch to look him in the belly. Otherwise I’m just looking at his feet. Sometimes when he sits on the couch I jump on the backrest and I can whisper in his ear. When I do that he scratches my ears, and I like that a lot.

My mother is very sweet. She sometimes calls me Tripper. I think that was her last dog, and she must have loved it a lot to keep remembering him. She talks to me a lot, but doesn’t make a lot of sense. I’m trying very hard to teach them to speak dog speak. Not much luck so far, but they are learning. I think they learn slowly because they are pretty old.

Sometimes I wonder what happened to my siblings. I hope they got good adoptive parents. I don’t have any way to communicate with them, so I just wish to Big Dog in the sky that they have it as good as I do.

I was born in a place called Massachusetts. I think that right. I was very young, so maybe it was somewhere else, but that’s where I was adopted.  I remember the day my new parents came to see me.  I had watched the other dogs get adopted before, and I learned that if you pretend to really like them and you wag your tail a lot, you have a better chance of getting picked up.

After they adopted me, they put me in cage, which I wasn’t too happy about, and then we all got into this big cage that moved and had windows. I thought I was going to be sick, but I was scared that they would send me back to the kennel, so I steeled myself and held it down.

After what I thought was a long time we arrived in a place they call Boston. I was shocked to have a cousin living there. My cousin was called Lucy. She had a nice place there, but she didn’t want to share her toys with me, so I was happy when I heard that my parents didn’t live there and were only visiting. Lucy belonged to a lady called Mitzi.  She was also very nice and bought me some nice clothes and toys before we left. I was sad to leave, as I realized that we were going to get back into that moving cage they call Jeep.

The day we left I cried a little, but then I had to worry about getting sick so I focused on being good and not complaining. One the trip I got to travel on a boat. Wow, that was exciting. When we stopped for lunch another person asked my dad what kind of a dog I was. My dad told them that I was a miniature German Shepard. I’ve never seen a German Shepard, but if they look like me they must be good looking.

The worst thing so far was that they wanted me to pee and poop on a white piece of paper. One day I forgot and, oh boy, did my dad get mad. I’m going to have to remember this in the future.

At night we slept in these yucky rooms where the carpets had seen at least a thousand feet. I had to continue sleeping in my cage. I was getting used to it, and pretended it was my house. Of course, if I designed it, it would have proper windows, not bars.

After many days of sleeping in these places they called Motels, I started thinking that my new parents always lived on the road. Maybe they were traveling salesmen, but I wasn’t sure. Eventually we got to a place called Mexico, or something like that. Then the following night we got to my parents house, and I didn’t have to spend all the time in my cage. Fortunately my parents left my cage in the living room, so when I get a little homesick I like to curl up in my cage and wonder what happened to all my friends in the kennel.

My early life has been pretty good. My only regret is that I wasn’t able to teach my parents to share their food with me. They make me eat some dried dog food that they say is good for me. What do they know? I have discovered that if I perch myself under the dining room table, enough of their food drops down that I can have a pretty decent meal of scrumptious people food. One day they were eating this yummy stuff they call chocolate and my mom dropped some on the floor. It was outrageously good. The weird thing is they freaked out. They wanted me to spit it out, but I was too smart for that and I swallow it whole. Pity, ‘cuz I would have like to savor that a bit more.  They seem to think that it would hurt me. Well it didn’t, so there.

Life is pretty good now. They have these weird dogs here that don’t have much hair and are about the same size as me. They are called chiuaua something. I haven’t learned Mexican yet, but I’m working on it.

I just got a haircut. My hair grows pretty quick, and if my dad doesn’t sent me to the barber he says I look like a ball of fluff.  I haven’t seen a ball of fluff before, but if he is like me we could have some fun together. Yesterday the lady at the barber put some weird perfume all over me when they finished clipping me. I think they mistook me for some other dog that likes that smell. I was worried that when my dad picked me up he would be unhappy. I was right. The reason I know is that he lowered the windows of the Jeep as soon as we got in the car, even though it was really hot outside, and when we got home he threw me into the shower with him. I like taking a shower with him. He picks me up and holds me under the spray making sure I don’t get soap and water in my eyes. Then he rubs me all over with my own towel.

Did I tell you I love my parents?

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